


Little Intimacies

by Sequesters



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affection, M/M, gift giving is first, this is literally all going to be about different ways of showing affection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have a long, rich history with one another, and they have many, many ways of showing how much they care.Here are a few of them.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomeTrasno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeTrasno/gifts).



> This is a gift for my dear friend Gale, you honestly deserve the world and I'm sorry that I took this long to just polish the first part :( But hey, better late than never I suppose!

The first time it happened, it was somewhere in the ninth century.

Aziraphale didn’t remember the exact date, it wasn’t really important in the long run. That little detail was edged out by all of the far more important details of the event in question. Such as the quaint décor of the little tavern, the flavor of the simply DELICIOUS beef stew he was eating, and the very familiar voice that suddenly came from behind him.

“Oh, angel,” said the demon Crowley, boots clacking on the wooden floor as he sauntered closer, “Saw this, ‘n thought of you.”

Aziraphale placed down his spoon gently and pursed his lips, preparing himself to be VERY snippy with this demon. Four hundred years since they last saw each other in Rome, and he just waltzes in without even saying hello?? Really, where were his MANNERS in this century?

Aziraphale turned, fully prepared to give him what-for, but all of his admonitions died in his throat as he actually caught SIGHT of Crowley.

He was just standing, about a foot and a half away, holding something out to Aziraphale with a nonchalance so convincing that it was undoubtedly a calculated pose—meticulously planned down to the millimeter.

His demonic aura screamed nervousness, so Aziraphale held his tongue and accepted the gift carefully, cradling it gently in his hands to get a good look.

Oh, it was simply _beautiful._ It was a small ceramic bowl of translucent white, almost certainly from Asia, where the humans there were just starting to perfect that sort of thing. It was clearly crafted with great care, decorated with intricate floral designs and perfectly symmetrical, all the way around.

“Y-y’know,” Crowley said, gesturing uncomfortably as his nonchalance began to break down, “Your-your _wings._ ”

Aziraphale just couldn’t help it, he touched a hand to his heart and gasped. Crowley had seen this gorgeous piece of ceramic work, and thought of him enough to ACQUIRE it for him?

Oh dear, he hoped Crowley had PAID for it.

Still, no use looking a gift horse-er, demon-in the mouth.

“Ohhh, how _lovely_ ,” Aziraphale sighed, running his thumbs along the gritty texture, “How _thoughtful_.”

He looked up at Crowley, that old demon, and smiled.

“ _Thank_ you,” he said, and he truly meant it.

Crowley shrugged. “Mmh. It was nothing,” he waved his trembling hand airily as he turned to leave, “Gotta go, uh, tempt the emperor now. See ya.”

And he was gone, leaving nothing but the faint afterimage of a pleased emotion in his wake.

-

Aziraphale didn’t get his chance for another few decades, but when he saw a local merchant selling snake bracelets, of the kind he hadn’t seen since the fall of Rome, he KNEW what must be done.

Aziraphale carried the little bracelet around with him wherever he went, just in case he ran into Crowley on an assignment. It was…nice, he found, to have a little talisman to remind him of his, uh, adversary. To remember why he fought so hard for the side of the Good, of course. That’s why he had it tucked away in his inner pocket, naturally, so he could seek it out with a touch during times of trouble, didn’t everyone have something like that? Yes, of course they did. This wasn’t abnormal behavior in the slightest.

He held onto the little thing for three more years, until he caught sight of a familiar demonic aura moving swiftly through the street.

He squinted at the hooded figure. The last time he ran up to a demonic presence willy-nilly, it was an unfortunate case of mistaken identity, and it lead to quite a nasty fight in the middle of a Moroccan marketplace that he hoped never to repeat.

But then the figure turned, revealing yellow eyes and a shock of hair as red as blood.

Finally.

“Crowley! Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, racing toward him.

“Angel?” asked Crowley, pulling down his hood, “What the blazes are you doing here?”

“Oh never mind THAT,” Aziraphale waved, fishing into his inner pocket, “ I just…well, I was passing by a merchant’s shop a few years ago and-oh, it reminded me SO much of your, ahem, _style,_ that I simply thought you MUST have it.”

With that, Aziraphale handed it over with a flourish, bouncing on his heels with nervous excitement.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he examined it.

“Haven’t seen one of these since _Rome_ ,” muttered Crowley, his cheeks just slightly flushed.

“I _know!”_ fluttered Aziraphale, wiggling his whole body with the delight of a gift well-given, “Do you remember that old one, you used to wear?”

“Yeh, I loved it,” Crowley murmured, slipping the bracelet onto his wrist and admiring its bronze finish, “Thanks, angel.”

-

A few centuries after that, over lunch, Aziraphale happened to mention his fondness for tea—quite surprised that he had never mentioned it to Crowley before. He thought nothing of it until Crowley returned a year later with a white ceramic teapot, intricately painted with blue coloring. Aziraphale was overjoyed—his precious bowl was long gone* by this time, and it was nice to have something spiritually descended from it to use in everyday life.

*shattered in an earthquake, and Aziraphale had nearly CURSED.

A few centuries after _that_ , on an extremely unpleasant winter assignment in Russia, Aziraphale’s only solace was the _lovely_ winter coat that he was determined to bring home to Crowley. He figured, if it could keep Aziraphale warm during the bitterly cold blizzards in the north, then it should do just fine for the reptilian demon during England’s little cold snaps.

It all became normal, in a way. If they ever parted for a century or so, or if one went on a particularly long-range assignment, it became tradition for some small trinket or other to change hands. Sunglasses, books, artwork, earrings, clothing, it gave them an excuse to catch up, if nothing else.

The one that most touched Aziraphale’s heart was the sack of books, saved from a German bomb.

He wasn’t sure if that little thermos, handed over with shaking fingers, counted as a _gift._

But one of his favorites was in the 1970s, when he bought Crowley a pair of fashionable sunglasses.

-

Crowley stared down at them for a full twenty seconds, which would have made Aziraphale quite nervous if there wasn’t a grin slowly spreading across his face the entire time.

“Angel, these are the TACKIEST things I’ve ever seen,” he finally declared, placing the square frames on his face and looking around, “And they’re PERFECT. I’ll wear ‘em to my M25 presentation! See if I don’t!”

With that he kissed Aziraphale on the cheek with an overdramatic MWAH! and raced out the door.

Aziraphale didn’t _smirk,_ because he was an _angel._

But he maybe, _maybe_ , bore a slight resemblance to the proverbial cat who got the cream.

-

“Gotcha this,” grunted Crowley at the beginning of the 21st century, and Aziraphale put down his book to accept cool ceramic into his hands.

Aziraphale looked down at the white mug, smiling upon realizing it had no proper handle—only a pair of angel wings.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh my, it looks just _like_ me.”

“Pardon?”

“You know,” Aziraphale grinned as he gestured vaguely, “My _wings_.”

“Shaddap, angel,” Crowley said, ducking his head with a burst of a pleased emotion.

Aziraphale stood up, intending to christen the mug with its first cup of hot cocoa, but stopped a moment to lay a hand on Crowley’s tense shoulder.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, then continued on his way to the kitchen.

And if he hadn’t had the supernatural hearing of an angel, that could hear a butterfly’s wingbeats at fifty paces, he might have missed the quiet little-

“You’re welcome, angel.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have a long talk in the Bentley.

Crowley and Aziraphale were enjoying a very nice dinner at a quaint little restaurant when Aziraphale suddenly went pale, and snapped his fingers.

Every atom in Crowley’s body was told that, in no uncertain terms, that they would have AZIRAPHALE to answer to if they did not spontaneously materialize OUTSIDE of the restaurant, right this instant.

Crowley HATED transport by miracle. It was crude, it was undignified, and it made his insides all twist up something AWFUL. Now he’d have to go through the work of untwisting them again if he wanted to have a functional digestive system by tomorrow.

But when he peeked back through the restaurant’s large window, ready to shoot the angel an indignant look, his insides twisted up even MORE.

There, in Crowley’s recently-vacated seat, was Gabriel.

Crowley let his indignation melt away as he himself melted almost-literally into the shadow, keeping a watchful eye on the scene.

Oh, Crowley HATED to see Aziraphale like this, all…closed off, with frightened eyes flickering somewhere around Gabriel’s stylish button-down. It was clear from Gabriel’s posture and Aziraphale’s reaction that Gabriel had come to admonish him—and he was in a bad mood to boot. It was a bit like watching a friend get yelled at by their parents in front of you, while you can do nothing about it but awkwardly sit in an unfamiliar chair and wish for it to be over already.

After a few tense minutes, Crowley got his wish when Gabriel disappeared from the mortal plane, and Aziraphale visibly relaxed. He straightened his waistcoat, saw to the bill, and walked outside to meet Crowley.

“So sorry for the, ah…OUSTING, my dear boy,” said Aziraphale, flashing a strained smile at Crowley, “Shall we go?”

They shared an extremely tense walk to the Bentley, and slid inside.

“WHY do they always have to ruin my perfectly good outings?!” Aziraphale blurted out, before Crowley had even started the car.

Crowley was so startled by this outburst that he promptly dropped the keys, hearing them land with a clink somewhere near the gas pedal. Oh well, THAT was gonna be a problem for future-Crowley, because present-Crowley’s attention was zeroed in on the angel in his passenger seat, trembling with frustration and barely-controlled rage.

“Every time!” he continued to rant, “Every time that I think I’m _safe_ , they just-“

Aziraphale clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I-I mean,” he backtracked, “O-of course no one likes surprise i-inspections-“

He suddenly looked ready to bolt, eyes flicking everywhere until they landed on Crowley.

Crowley took off his sunglasses, and looked back.

They held steady eye contact, Crowley pleading silently to Aziraphale’s wild eyes, that retained their summer-sea color even in the darkest night, not to run, not to go, he was safe _here_ , couldn’t he see?

Aziraphale finally sighed, and sat back against the Bentley’s seat, letting his head flop onto the upholstery.

“Crowley,” he finally said, looking sideways with just his eyes, “I have a suspicion.”

Crowley waited patiently, silently, as Aziraphale pondered his words.

“I…I know you fear becoming a prisoner of Hell, rather than an employee,” Aziraphale said, twisting his hands in his lap.

Crowley choked. That was NOT where he expected this to go.

“I-I-“ he sputtered, feeling rather cut to the quick.

“Have you ever heard of the, ah…Panopticon?” Aziraphale asked, voice light and shaky.

Crowley nodded. “W-was that one of yours? Or one of mine?” he croaked, working around the lump in his throat that could tell where Aziraphale was going with this.

Aziraphale did a funny little motion that Crowley recognized as looking around with his True Eyes, before he refocused his corporation’s back on Crowley.

“I fear,” he said, so lowly that only a demon’s heightened senses could pick it up, “I fear that I’m ALREADY a prisoner.”

Crowley’s heart broke for him, and he reached out on instinct, gripping the pad of Aziraphale’s thumb with a few of his fingers.

“I-if you prefer to walk home, if that’s safer,” said Crowley, “Whatever you need to do angel-“

“No, no,” Aziraphale waved with his free hand, “I am usually left alone for a while after the, ah…in-person visits.”

He looked down at their connected hands, but did not pull away.

“Being here now is—well, relatively anyway,” he took a deep breath, and blew it out, “ _Low-risk_.”

Aziraphale followed the line of Crowley’s arm straight up into his eyes. 

“And, as it happens,” he said, “I would rather not be alone.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. The air in his precious Bentley was absolutely suffocating, charged with fear, and longing, and the delicate rawness of a very careful angel voicing things that would normally be left unsaid.

“What did he even SAY to you?!” blurted Crowley, absolutely ruining the moment.

Aziraphale suddenly looked as if he were about to cry, and Crowley withdrew his hand in a stomach-dropping moment of panic*, but Aziraphale took control of himself, and answered the question.

*something that he really kicked himself for doing later

“Well, it was mostly the usual,” Aziraphale began, “According to my reports, I’m throwing my miracles away on frivolous things, which to _him_ is a category that includes feeding the poor, and helping the sick-!”

Aziraphale clamped his mouth shut and took yet another deep breath. “Oh, it _infuriates_ me, but it’s nothing new.”

“He’s devoted to the NOS,” Crowley nodded, “Number Of Souls.”

“All about the bottom line with Gabriel,” Aziraphale agreed, rolling his eyes, “But he said a few other things over the course of our meeting that…rather frightened me.”

He suddenly looked a bit sick.

“He said that…given my aforementioned _frivolous miracles_ , and my ‘apparent disdain’ for this corporation, he felt it necessary to remind me that I was devoted to HEAVEN, not anything else.”

Crowley nodded, listening intently.

“Then he said, and I shall give you his exact words, here,” Aziraphale shifted around as he threw his fingers up for the required air quotes, “’Not to mention the things you do in THESE establishments’, then he sniffed the air, and said ‘eugh’.”

“I’m…not really following,” admitted Crowley, “We already know he hates the concept of food.”

“But _you_ were there! Not even a _moment_ before he arrived!” Aziraphale exclaimed, wringing his hands, “And you do smell a bit evil-“

“Hey!”

“Do you think he _knows?_ A-about our arrangement?” Aziraphale asked, fear evident in both his eyes and voice.

It all spilled out of him like a burst dam after that, anxiety and worry overwhelming him and taking Crowley aback with the sheer force of the wave.

“Was that not an oblique comment on your presence, a subtle hint, combined with the formal reprimand about the miracles and that devotion-to-heaven comment, and-and he really DID seem a bit more miffed than usual, was he trying to tell me, without telling me of course, that he KNEW I was with a demon, and-“

“Angel, angel, stop for a minute,” Crowley said, holding his hands up, “That…doesn’t really sound like Gabriel.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came down, in PERSON, to reprimand you for _frivolous miracles!_ Do you really think, if he had that juicy information about you working WITH a demon, that he wouldn’t take that opportunity to, I dunno, lord it over you?!”

Aziraphale paused, cocking his head slightly to the side in thought.

“Now that I think about it, you’re right,” he said, nodding, “He has never NOT pursued immediate disciplinary action in his entire existence, if he could help it.”

Crowley nodded vigorously back, hoping to encourage the calm starting to creep into Aziraphale’s posture.

“Plus, he only reprimanded you for the miracles in your _report_ ,” Crowley emphasized, “And a few of those…I did _for_ you.”

Aziraphale visibly perked up at that.

“I do believe you’re right,” said Aziraphale, putting a hand over his heart, “Oh… _thank you_ for that, I was absolutely worrying myself SICK over it.”

“I’m pretty good at figuring out situations, if I do say so myself,” Crowley said, puffed up with pride, “That’s how I’ve lasted this long in Hell.”

“Yes, you really are,” said Aziraphale, treating Crowley to a brief smile before it disappeared like a blown out candle.

“But what I said earlier still applies,” he said somberly, looking out of the window pensively, “I’m still, you know. _Acutely aware_ of how much Heaven can see me, if they so choose. They could be watching me, right now, and I am afraid that every time I use my True Eyes I’ll see them peeking down, passing judgment on me and all of my…activities.”

“Yeh, I understand that, “ Crowley said, leaning back, “Hell can commandeer just about anything, when it wants to order me around.”

“Ah yes, I had forgotten about that,” Aziraphale said guiltily.

“Speaker, radio, TV, cinema screen, a particularly demonically-inclined child, you name it, they’ll commandeer it,” Crowley shrugged, “They don’t bother to show up in person, thank SOMEBODY, but they always implant their instructions directly into-“ Crowley tapped his own temple.

“Ooh,” Aziraphale shuddered, “I hope they never teach Heaven that little trick. I’d HATE to see what Michael would do with that. They can be such a _terrible_ micromanager.”

“A literal lake of Hellfire didn’t make me forget THAT,” grumbled Crowley.

Aziraphale stifled a giggle at that.

“C’mon, you’re allowed to laugh,” Crowley encouraged, “I’m the one who said it, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale laughed a little louder, and pursed his lips so _endearingly_ at Crowley that he promptly forgot what they were talking about, and had to quickly change the subject.

They ended up talking for a while, in that frank and honest space. With the floodgate open, the strange intensity still crackling in the air from the events of the evening, Aziraphale was a lot more…forthcoming, than he usually was while sober. He let loose about things that bothered him, _really_ bothered him, about Heaven and his job and humanity…and Crowley shared eagerly right back. They talked of everything, and nothing, complaining about their bosses and jobs and their neighbors, reminiscing on old bygone eras…

Crowley wished this moment could last forever, despite the ache in his chest for Aziraphale’s sorrows. He tried his best not to draw attention to the fact that they were in the Bentley, knowing instinctively that once they both stepped out of the car the magic would be lost, and the secrets of their souls would no longer flow so easily from one to another as they did now, back and forth without judgment. Once the spell was broken, it would be over.

But the fact that it was only temporary, like everything about the earth, was exactly what made it so special.

“Not to interrupt, my dear, but I do believe we have been in this Bentley for three hours,” Aziraphale observed.

“So?” asked Crowley, a bit petulantly.

“So, I have a PERFECTLY good bookshop we could be having a nice drink in, if you could be so kind as to say…take us there?” said Aziraphale, reaching out and tucking an errant strand of hair back behind Crowley’s ear.

Crowley smiled, the kind of thing that raised his mouth by halves until it couldn’t resist its own temptation to become whole.

“Your wish is my command, angel,” he said, and finally started the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the inherent homoeroticism of having a long talk in a parked car...also, Crowley's keys are still under the gas pedal, by the way. He just started the car via expectation because his brain is 100% devoted to thinkin about that angel right now and 0% to how cars work
> 
> Anyway, it is nearly midnight so via a technicality, happy birthday Gale!!!! I hope you enjoy this.


End file.
